


Patched Up Satin

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: Pieces Verse - Soulmate AU [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempted mugging, Black Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Are Twins, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Punk Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sheltered Creativity | Roman Sanders, roman: is baby, speedrun edition, virgil: Oh No, virgil: what an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26461177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: In which Roman sneaks out alone, almost gets mugged, and meets a gaggle of adorable teenagers as well as the most insufferable jackass he’s ever had the misfortune to encounter.He’s just trying to find his soulmate, before its too late – is that really so much to ask?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Background Logicality, Creativity | Roman Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: Pieces Verse - Soulmate AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745191
Comments: 35
Kudos: 388





	Patched Up Satin

**Author's Note:**

> i dont think its strictly necessary to read this and _A Piece of the Sky_ in order, but it will definitely help and i’d recommend it.

Roman _wished_ he could be upset with Logan.

Oh he was _envious_ , for sure, it was impossible not to be. But actually mad at him? Not even close.

Walking into the back parlor, Roman startled, softening at the sight of his older brother and Patton, his soulmate, sitting with each other on one of the couches.

Or, rather, sitting _on_ each other – if he didn’t know better Roman might suspect that Logan hadn’t let go of Patton since the night they’d met months ago.

Patton had his legs up on the couch, criss-crossed – mother would be scandalized at _feet_ on the expensive furniture but Patton never seemed to care what Mother would be upset about in the slightest – and Logan was _laying_ across it. He had his head in Patton’s lap, his eyes closed and gloves off, holding Patton’s hand and pressing it to his lips. His jacket was off too, his sleeves rolled up, and Patton’s palm was resting against the bend of his elbow, blue-to-blue.

“Afternoon, you two,” said Roman fondly.

Logan jerked like someone had electrocuted him, moving like he was going to leap up and off the couch. Patton grabbed his arms, stilling him with a little tutting noise, and when Logan saw it was only Roman he relaxed, settling back into Patton’s hold.

“… Good afternoon, Roman,” he said, flushing.

“Calm down, Charles Dorkins,” said Roman dryly, “I’m the last person who’s going to get on you for improper touching,”

“Speaking of which!” said Patton cheerfully, “I have not given _you_ your daily dose of hugs, kiddo, get over here,”

And that made _Roman_ flush a little, but he was hardly going to complain.

Roman had never even heard of “touch starvation” before a horrified Patton had heard Remus describe handshakes as “scandalous” and discovered that, outside of each other, the three Fitzroy brothers pretty much never touched… anyone.

Patton had made it his mission to singlehandedly provide the three of them with all the contact they’d been missing their whole lives, and encouraged them to be more tactile with each other – much to their parents’ distaste and disapproval.

Roman couldn’t feel bad about it though, or even consider heeding their pointed requests to stop being so indecent – not since the first time Remus had conceded to an actual full-body hug and started crying right in Roman’s arms.

Roman crossed the room, accepting Patton’s hug for his recommended minimum of three seconds and then another three because it was nice. And then he leaned down to give Logan one too, and Logan sat up slightly to return it and squeezed Roman around the shoulders for good measure.

Roman returned the squeeze and let go, and Logan fell back into Patton’s embrace. Patton ran the backs of his fingers across Logan’s face, and that strange, jumbled twist of envy and fondness rippled through Romans stomach again.

He _was_ happy for Logan. Genuinely; it was impossible not to be, when Logan watched Patton with unconcealed adoration and smiled more than he maybe ever had, certainly at least since they were kids.

But, well-

Logan was the oldest, and he couldn’t get married off to whoever their parents picked out for him for political clout now, not with a soulmate.

Roman was next, and Mother and Father were determined to beat _his_ soulmate to the punch.

Roman had been paraded around like cattle in the intervening weeks, and it had been unpleasant to start but was rapidly pushing into outright unbearable.

His repeated reminders – given through just-shy-of-gritted teeth – that he was gay had added more men to the pool but had not eliminated the women, which made Roman want to scream and break dishes and knock over furniture.

Which he did not do, because proper young men did not do such things, and if he was grateful for the scenes Remus caused on his behalf then he was only going to admit it in privacy of his own or his brothers’ rooms, and certainly not going to admit to the tears at all.

Roman sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, and Patton placed one hand lightly on his shoulder. Logan shuffled around a bit until his own shoulder was touching the back of Roman’s neck, and Roman leaned into both of them.

Maybe envy wasn’t the right word. Patton may be Logan’s soulmate, but he was as good as Roman’s family now too, and Logan wasn’t the sole reason why. Roman was so, so happy to have him in their home now, someone who made the world feel a little less cold, less like it was the three of them entirely alone and drowning.

But Patton _was_ still _Logan’s_ soulmate. And the _longing_ Roman felt when he saw them together - so happily in love it was like their gravity had re-oriented around each other – it was overwhelming.

What Roman wouldn’t give to have someone like that – someone he knew on sight as the person the universe made for him, someone who was just _his_.

At the very least, he would like the _chance_ to meet them – preferably before he was wed to someone he’d met twice whose parents were just as unbearable as his own.

But he wasn’t holding his breath – plenty of people, especially in _his_ family’s social circles, spent their whole lives with colorless marks, never meeting their soulmate. Or worse, Roman thought, maybe meeting them and never knowing it, never making the skin-to-skin contact that would reveal them to each other. It filled Roman with a resigned sort of dread, that he might one day walk right past his own and never even know it.

But what could Roman do about it, really? He would meet them or he wouldn’t. He would meet them _soon_ , or it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Patton began to hum idly, and Logan pressed a little firmer to Roman’s skin – maybe sensing his upset, or maybe just happy for the contact, the both of them, something that was new to Roman but no less treasured.

He relaxed a little more, tilted his head back to rest against Patton’s knee, and tried to think only of what he’d gained, and not everything he was so, so close to losing.

—

If Roman had his way, he and Remus never would have stopped sharing a room.

As young children, they’d shared the nursery in the children’s quarters, along with Logan. Logan had been unceremoniously taken away one day – they’d all been told he was too old to have a governess, and been given to tutors instead, but they’d all known Miss Dunkeld had continued to sneak him sweets between his lessons and watching the twins.

Roman had woken up one day and she was already gone – let go in the evening after he’d gone to bed, left with the dawn – and they’d been in new, separate rooms by the evening. He’d always been bitter that they’d taken her and his ability to easily climb into his brother’s bed for comfort in one fell swoop.

Not that it _really_ stopped them – but sneaking through the halls was risky. The last thing he needed was one of the maids catching him and snitching.

Climbing out of bed with a sigh, Roman resigned himself to the risk. How many more chances was he going to get, really? Before seeking out comfort from his brothers was impossible, either because he’d been whisked away to some far-off country house of some other noble or because he was sharing quarters with a stranger?

He paused, sitting on the edge of the bed and clenching his fists.

It wasn’t _fair._ And maybe that was childishly bitter, but Roman had _dreamed_ of finding his soulmate for so _long_ , and now he was going to lose the last chance any day now. He felt he was entitled to some bitterness.

… Unless.

Roman glanced at the window.

His parents had either never cared enough or never had the creativity necessary to realize that it was frightfully easy for Roman to climb out of his bedroom window, with the trellis of roses just beneath it. There was a gate, yes, but their private beach down by the lake made it easy to get around.

And how many more chances was Roman going to get? Eleventh hour, wasn’t it?

Throwing himself into action, Roman rushed to the closet and dug out the bag hidden behind the shelves. The low-back halter top he only wore when they snuck out was a little wrinkled, but Roman thought it added to the charm. He chose a pair of loose-fitting jeans and grabbed a pair of gloves to protect from the thorns on the rose bushes and changed into his clandestine outfit.

It was always strange and heady to wear the shirt - the knowledge that _anyone_ could see Roman’s mark right now, when their parents had made sure to shame him for its “particularly indecent” placement his whole life – it was almost dizzying.

Shaking, Roman pushed the window open and took a steadying breath to still himself before climbing down the trellis, his heart pounding.

Following the well worn path from the house to the beach, Roman tried not to think about the splotch of bright red he must look if anyone happened to be glancing out the window – but hopefully none of the maids were going to be watching wistfully out the window.

He made it to the little side gate to the beach area, hopping it rather than bothering with the latch and nearly stumbling down the scraggy grass on the other side. He stuck out even worse against the pale sand, but there were no shouts or calls for him to stop – Roman must have missed whichever security guard’s turn it was on beach duty.

And then, very anticlimactically, he’d made his way to the public shore areas of the lake – a successful escape.

As he made his way toward the streets of the city proper, he began to feel just a bit of trepidation. Glancing at his watch, he saw it wasn’t actually as late as he thought, only just past eleven pm, which explained why there were so many people out still in the dim street lamps.

But it was still _night_ , and a bit nippy in the early autumn air. And Roman realized with a sort of wary anticipation that this was the first time he had snuck out without either of his brothers.

Roman didn’t really have much of a plan, other than “try to find his soulmate,” because that wasn’t really the sort of thing you could plan for was it? It was _destiny,_ kismet, fate. Roman desperately trying to push it along was maybe just as likely to make him _miss_ it, but what choice did he have?

Well. If there was one thing Roman could be sure of, it was that whoever his soulmate was, he wanted him – and Roman _knew_ he would be a him, never mind that his parents seemed to think he might change his mind if presented with a nice enough girl – to be everything Roman’s parents _weren’t._ Might as well start as far away from the manor as possible.

Roman had absolutely no idea if the buses ran so late, but the stop had people at it, and nobody gave him odd looks when he took one of the free spots, inspecting the map on the little sign that was somewhat incomprehensible with its many colorful symbols and lack of key, but Roman could mostly discern this particular bus’s path, and its furthest point.

Only a few minutes later – during which the chill really began to bite, making Roman grit his teeth and tense to avoid shivering obviously – the bus pulled up, and Roman filed on with everyone else, dropping his coins in the box and scurrying to the far back.

It was hard to keep the map of the city from the sign straight in his head, especially as the streets and buildings grew more and more unfamiliar – parades never came through this part of town.

But he recognized the name of the street he’d marked off as the end point, lurching to his feet as the bus stopped.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

The bus driver seemed startled, and Roman winced – he knew it was considered odd to thank servants, but he’d assumed it wouldn’t apply when he was ostensibly just as much of a commoner as everyone else on the bus – but then her face softened and she smiled.

“You’re welcome kid. Have a good night,”

He was the only person getting off, and nobody was waiting to get on. The bus door closed with a hiss of steam, and pulled away from the curb – Roman watched it disappear around the corner before turning to take stock of his surroundings.

He knew he was in the merchant’s district from the bus stop sign, but he admittedly wasn’t entirely sure what that meant – Logan was the one who could rattle off the district’s and guilds of Kenningport as well as their average economic output without blinking. Roman was mostly just around to look pretty.

There were a few restaurants around him, the dim yellow bulbs inside and the gas street lamps above giving everything an eerie yellow cast. A gust of wind blew through the street, and Roman couldn’t help but shiver.

None of the restaurants sounded familiar – what was con-gee? - so Roman began to walk. Something sweet would likely be the most easily familiar – maybe he could find a bakery.

Humming lightly, Roman scuffed his boots on the cobblestones as he walked. The toe caught on a bit of loose rock and sent it flying, so Roman amused himself for the next few minutes kicking it down the street, watching it skitter and skip across the bumpy, uneven bricks.

So focused on his little skipping rock, Roman stopped really paying attention to the street around him. He didn’t notice it getting quieter, or the street lamps growing further apart, or the thinning of the already scant number of people out so late at night.

At least until he came upon his rock again, preparing to kick it, and someone stepped on top of it.

Roman startled like he’d been electrocuted, jerking back. Looking up, he came face to face with an unfamiliar, smiling man, wearing a brown leather coat and a pair of gold goggles perched on his head.

Roman moved to take a step back, but the man’s hand darted out, wrapping around his bicep-

And _hell_ did Roman _not like that._

It _burned._ Nothing like his brothers’ hands, familiarly calloused in different spots, or the softness of Patton’s that he attributed to an abundance of butter in his hand-diet. All at once Roman felt horribly nauseous and slightly dizzy, his skin crawling with the sheer force of his desire to _not have this guy touching him._

“Hey,” said the man, seemingly oblivious to Roman’s cloying discomfort and still grinning, “What are you doing out here, all by yourself?”

“I-”

Roman’s voice cracked, but he cleared his throat and put on his most winning smile.

“Only going for a walk, you know,” he said sunnily, “Would you be so kind as to let go of me?”

The man snorted, and two other voices joined. Roman glanced to the side, and saw two other men in similar jackets, grinning in a way that set Roman’s teeth on edge.

“You shy, doll?” he said, “Not looking for a soulmate?”

Roman’s smile didn’t waver, but it maybe grew just a bit of an edge.

“I am, actually,” he said, “And you are clearly not it,”

He pulled, but the man didn’t release him.

“Guess I’m not,” he continued, unconcerned, “Too bad- you are quite the pretty face,”

“I would like for you to let go of me now,” said Roman, firmer.

“I just bet you would,” came the laughing response.

Well. Okay then.

Without waiting any longer, Roman slammed his heavy-soled boot down on the man’s foot.

“ _Fuck-”_

Roman’s arm slipped out of his startled grip. Spinning on his heel, Roman turned to run back the way he came, only to find the other two men having already cut off that path. Lunging, Roman tried to get around them but another burning grip caught his wrist, grinding the bones together hard enough that Roman yelped in pain.

“Oh you little _shitheel_ , you’re gonna pay for that-”

A dark blur barreled out of the alley and _slammed_ into the furthest of the men, knocking him into the street and sending him sprawling. A sharp _crack_ sounded as his head hit the cobblestones, but the new arrival didn’t even stop moving before lunging for the second.

“Hey, what the _fuck-”_

Roman took advantage of the distraction to slam his elbow into the gut of the guy holding him, trying to ignore the pulsing burn everywhere they were in contact – when he doubled over Roman slammed a punch into his jaw.

Which was apparently more difficult than it looked, because there was a slightly nauseating _crunch_ and Roman’s fist blossomed with fiery pain, his breath hissing between his teeth.

But it seemed to be enough, no matter that Roman suspected he’d done something rather severe to his own hand – the man dropped his grip, scrambling to pull his friend away from the dark, hissing figure that had him in a headlock. They broke apart, the two attackers running, and the first man, the one who’d gone down in the street, staggered to his feet and lurched after them, hurling bitter insults over his shoulder as they ran.

Roman and his – rescuer? - new friend were silent for several moments, breathing heavily. Roman wiggled his fingers and immediately regretted it, hissing in distaste, and the newcomer spun on his heel to look at him.

Roman froze.

In the dim yellow of the streetlamps, the other man’s dark skin looked almost bronzed – his eyes were starless-night-sky dark, and his coal black hair was braided close to his scalp. He was, hands down, the handsomest man Roman had ever seen.

And then he opened his mouth.

“So, pretty boy,” he sneered, “Do you usually walk around in outfits that scream ‘rob me,’ or is tonight a special occasion?”

Roman sputtered.

“I- I am _not_ \- this is a perfectly respectable outfit!” said Roman shrilly.

And it was, wasn’t it? Patton had showed this much skin or more in every outfit of his own that Roman had seen, including when he’d been given “appropriate” clothing for a ball by their parents and promptly – and, Roman thought, maybe just a touch spitefully, but he wasn’t going to call Patton on it - stripped out of half of it in full few of half the guests.

“Oh, sure,” said Handsome Asshole, “And I’m also sure you don’t think the boots that would cost half my paycheck, and the fancy silk purse, and the tan line halfway up your neck are dead fucking giveaways that you’re not where you’re supposed to be, huh Fitzroy?”

Roman’s blood practically froze in his veins, eyes widening. Pretty Dickhead gave him a sharp smile, and Roman recoiled slightly, but Jerkwad softened a little and stepped back.

“Relax,” he said, putting up his hands, “ _I’m_ not gonna rob you, idiot,”

“How magnanimous of you,” said Roman acidly.

“Isn’t it just?”

In a fit of pique, Roman snatched a loose rock up on the ground and chucked it at him. It hit the stranger’s black leather jacket with a soft, pathetic _thwap_ and fell to the ground.

“Oh no,” came the dry response, “I’m bleeding out. It’s over for me. Better learn how to hide a body quick, rich kid,”

“Oh, fuck _you_ ,” snapped Roman.

“Hard pass, pretty boy,” said _Total Shithead_ , “You don’t belong here and we both know it. Go home. Don’t get robbed. Seems pretty simple, don’t think you can fuck it up that bad,”

“Jackass,” snarled Roman, stalking past him and sticking his tongue out for good measure.

“Where are you going?”

“ _Home,_ obviously,” spat Roman, ignoring the throb of hurt in his chest that his night had gone so spectacularly downhill so fast, “Certainly I don’t want to hang around if _you_ and your little friends are going to be the kind of ragamuffins loitering about,”

“The big house is the _other way_ , genius,”

“I’m going back to the _bus stop_ ,” sneered Roman, “If that’s alright with you, Jerk Permit?”

There was a stretch of silence, a long, drawn out sigh, and a low swear Roman almost missed.

“It’s midnight,” said the guy flatly.

“I have a watch, thanks,”

“The buses have stopped running, smart guy,”

Roman glared, frustrated and feeling his face burning in embarrassment.

“And you didn’t know that,” muttered the guy, “Of course,”

“Oh, shut up!”

The guy rubbed his eyes, sighed again, and then turned, waving Roman forward.

“Okay, come on,” he said, “We better start moving,”

“ _We?_ ” sputtered Roman.

“Yeah, _we,_ ” came the response.

“I’m not going anywhere with _you,_ you-”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not leaving you to walk across the whole city in the middle of the night so the constable can find your stabbed and robbed corpse in the morning. I have this horribly inconvenient thing called a conscience. Lucky me,”

“Oh you _insufferable_ jackass, I would rather-”

“It’s Virgil,” he deadpanned, “Or jackass, whatever. I don’t care. Start walking rich kid,”

Bristling in fury, Roman clenched his fists and yelped in pain at the reminder that he’d _definitely_ messed up his hand somehow. Virgil raised his eyebrows, hands shoved in the pockets of his patched jacket and staring Roman down, waiting.

“ _Fine_ ,” spat Roman, “But if you try anything you- _hooligan-_ ”

“I’m sure you’ll have a grand old time breaking your other hand, pretty boy,”

“My name is _Roman_ ,”

“I’m well aware, Fitzroy,” said Virgil, grinning sharply.

And then he turned, walking briskly down the street, clearing expecting Roman to follow.

What an _asshole_.

Roman had to jog to catch up, and Virgil didn’t look at him again as Roman fell in step.

He got the feeling it was going to be a long night.

—

Virgil was, possibly, the most unbearable person Roman had ever met.

From his smug, condescending smile to his eye rolls every time Roman considerately tried to strike up _some_ kind of conversation to his patch-covered leather jacket and ripped skirt that still managed to look more stylish than Roman even _imagined_ he himself could pull off in such an outfit – everything about him seemed designed to set Roman’s teeth on edge.

Roman tried for the umpteenth time to initiate a conversation, this time about the clearly homemade nature of Virgil’s jacket, and Virgil only hummed noncommittally in response.

“I embroider, you know,” said Roman.

“Good for you,”

“I’m actually quite good at it, though Logan is better at the finer detail work and Remus is much faster,”

“Hmm,”

“I’m also secretly an assassin hired to kill you,”

“Sounds nice,”

“You aren’t even _listening!_ ” exclaimed Roman, stopping on the sidewalk and putting his hands on his hips.

Virgil stared beseechingly at the sky, groaning.

“Can you just walk?” he said, turning to face him, “Preferably in _silence?_ ”

“Well, _excuse me_ for _trying_ to have a friendly conversation-”

“We’re not friends,” Virgil cut him off, “I’m going to walk you to the big house so I don’t feel guilty for the next week, and we’re never gonna see each other again,”

“Is there a _reason_ you seem to hate me after less than an _hour_ of knowing me?” demanded Roman, “Because as far as I know, I haven’t done _anything_ to you,”

“Sure you haven’t,” said Virgil sarcastically, “Not like your whole family exploits the hell out of the city or anything,”

All at once, Roman’s blood was practically boiling, but his voice came out ice cold.

“You don’t know _anything_ about me,” he said bitterly, “Or my life, or my family. But fine – if you want silence so bad, you can have it. _Chatting_ with you is like pulling teeth anyway,”

Stalking passed him, Roman continued down the sidewalk. He didn’t go too fast, because unfortunately he didn’t actually know where he was going, and after a long moment of silence he heard Virgil’s footsteps start up again. Virgil caught up, moving in front of him and leading the way once more, and they didn’t speak again for a long time.

They turned a corner, and a few yards down the sidewalk was a small cart with a sign attached to it. As they approached, a wonderful smell bloomed in the air, and the dark-haired man behind the cart looked up and grinned.

“Virgil!”

“Hey, Mr. Torres,” said Virgil, “Almost closing time, huh?”

“Sure is,” said Torres, “Had a busy night, how about you?”

“You have no idea, man,”

Torres turned to Roman, smile turning a little surprised.

“Well, who is this lovely young man?” he said, offering his hand for a handshake.

Roman tried to hide the tremble in his hands as he accepted it, and if Mr. Torres gave him an odd look when Roman apparently botched it somehow, he didn’t press the issue. Torres turning Virgil with a sly expression.

“Actually,” he said, “I was so busy I overestimated myself a little – I have a lot leftover since it slowed down. Why don’t I bag it up, and you boys can take it with you?”

Virgil shook his head, holding up his hand.

“No, that’s okay, Mr. Torres, you take it home,”

“Nonsense,” said Torres, “It’s just me and Maisey at home, you know my kids are grown V – you two take it! I’d much rather it go towards some nice young people’s date than go and spoil in my icebox,”

Virgil made a strangled, mortified noise, and Roman’s eyebrows raised in amusement and surprise – gone was the cocky jerk who’d been picking fights for the past hour, and in his place was a stammering mess. Roman suspected he was blushing, but it was pretty much impossible to tell with how dark the night and Virgil’s skin were.

“Of course,” said Roman, cutting him off with his most winning, debutante-perfect smile, “We would appreciate it so much, Mr. Torres _,_ sir,it’s very kind of you to offer,”

“Oh, now don’t you start with this “Mister” nonsense,” said Torres, “If I’ve told Virgil to call me Frank once I’ve told him a hundred times, I don’t need two of you,”

“Frank, then,” said Roman, “Really, it smells heavenly, sir, I’m sure it tastes just as divine,”

Frank looked undeniably pleased.

“No ‘sir,’ either,” he said, amused, “But thank you. Where’d you get such a polite little beau Virgil? He’s a keeper for sure,”

Roman let out an airy, well-practiced laugh, and Virgil was alternating between more stuttering and looking at Roman like he’d absolutely lost his mind.

As Frank bagged up several containers of fried vegetables and sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper, Roman chattered away with him. It was a bit of a learning curve, because Roman could hardly bring up all the sorts of things he’d talk about at a formal function to a man who owned a food cart, but Roman was nothing if not a glowing conversationalist.

Frank talked about his children, both in college, and his wife, who he adored. In exchange Roman gushed about his twin brother’s thriving pinned butterfly collection (he did not mention that it was carefully hidden in Remus’s closet where their parents or the maids couldn’t find it) and how besotted Logan was with his new soulmate.

By the time they walked away, with Roman still calling cheerfully over his shoulder and both of them carrying a bag each, Roman almost got the feeling that he’d successfully made a friend.

They turned another corner, and Roman finally looked back at Virgil, who was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“What?” Roman snapped, smile dropping into a scowl.

“What the hell was _that?_ ” said Virgil.

“What was what?” said Roman, “A conversation? Being friendly? I’m not surprised you’re unfamiliar,”

Virgil gave him a wary look.

“ _What?_ ” said Roman, “Frank is a perfectly lovely man and was kind enough to give us _bags_ of food – which we will be stopping to eat at some point whether you like it or not because it smells heavenly - why _wouldn’t_ I have been nice to him? Do you really think _that_ lowly of me?”

The cautious look on Virgil’s face was unreadable, but the silence – well, that gave Roman the impression that the answer was _yes_.

“Fantastic,” said Roman bitterly.

“… So it’s true?” said Virgil, transparently changing the subject, “Your brother does actually have a soulmate? I figured it was just a rumor,”

“It isn’t,” said Roman flatly, “Patton has been a welcome addition to our home,”

“Somehow I doubt that,” said Virgil dryly.

“Yes, yes, my parents are murderous, obviously,” said Roman, waving his free hand, “I meant for Logan. Me and Remus, too, he’s – I mean, I suppose outside of my brothers, Patton is the first friend I’ve ever had,”

There was a heavy silence, and Roman looked back at Virgil to find another unreadable, but much softer look directed at him.

“Why am I telling you this?” Roman muttered, “Nevermind,”

Virgil looked for a moment like he might say something else, but he seemed to think better of it.

“C’mon,” he said, “There’s a park up here in a couple blocks. We can sit and eat this before it gets cold,”

Pushing forward, Virgil led him at a brisk pace, and Roman followed, wondering what on earth he was supposed to take away from that look.

—

“What did you say this was again?”

“Barbecue pork,” said Virgil.

“It’s very… wet,” said Roman idly, casting around for a napkin and finding none.

“Just lick it off,”

Roman sputtered.

“Mother would _skin_ and make a _coat_ of me for licking my fingers in public,”

“Your mom isn’t here,” said Virgil dryly, “And neither is anybody else but me, because it’s almost two AM. – I’m not gonna judge you for licking barbecue off your fingers when there’s all sorts of much better reasons to judge you, Fitzroy,”

“Ha, ha,” deadpanned Roman. He hesitated for a moment before sighing and licking the sauce off his fingers and then snickering.

“Not really an improvement,” he mused, “Now I’m all… slobbery,”

He managed to get most of the – honestly, absolutely terrific – sauce off of his fingers. It was sweet and tangy and sort of acidic and even a little bit spicy, and far more interesting than anything Roman had eaten before.

He glanced up to find Virgil staring at him, and he wrinkled his nose.

“What?”

Virgil startled, but before he could answer there was a shout from the dark around them and a clamor of footsteps.

“Virgil!” exclaimed one of the three young teenagers – Roman would hazard a guess at fifteen or so – that appeared out of the shadows, tackling him around the shoulders and squeezing.

“ _Elliott,_ ” said Virgil, exasperated but so soft it actually startled Roman a little, “It’s two in the morning kid, come on. What are you doing out?”

Elliott shuffled.

“Chad was being a jerk,” came the muttered reply.

“Yeah, Chad made them cry so I threw an egg in his bedroom window!” blurted one of the other kids.

“ _Tucker!”_ exclaimed Elliott.

“Hey, nice one,” said Virgil, offering him a high five.

“Who’s your friend?” said the third kid.

“I’m Roman,” said Roman, the same moment Virgil said “He’s not my friend,”

“Wow, harsh, V,” said Tucker.

“I’m Andy,” said the third kid, offering his hand, “He/him,”

Roman didn’t have time to ask what exactly that second bit meant before the more hyperactive kid pushed in front of Andy.

“And I’m Tucker! He/him,”

“I’m Elliott,” said the one still attached to Virgil, “They/them,”

Roman’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“… They/them?” he said, confused.

All four of them went tense, and Virgil absolutely _glowered_ at him.

“Uh, yeah,” said Elliott, voice small, “I’m nonbinary, I use they/them pronouns,”

“Nonbinary,” said Roman, testing the word in his mouth.

“Yeah,” said Elliott, shrinking a little, “It, uh- it means I’m not a boy or girl,”

“You can _do that?_ ” said Roman incredulously.

“Yeah, they can,” snapped Virgil.

“They/them,” mused Roman, barely registering Virgil, “This is Elliott, they have a gray jacket. Oh, I _love_ that. That’s so interesting, I didn’t know people could do that!”

The three kids exchanged some baffled looks.

“… Where’d you find _this_ guy, V?” murmured Tucker.

“A ditch,”

“It was more like a gutter,” said Roman, kicking him in the shin, “And I wasn’t in it quite yet. Doom and Gloomy here stopped me from getting mugged,”

The teenagers lit up, and Virgil groaned.

“You _rescued_ him?” said Andy, “Awwww, cute!!”

“Rescued is a strong word,” said Virgil tightly.

“Accurate though,” said Roman, smiling smugly around an onion ring – just barely not getting distracted by how much he apparently _really liked onion rings –_ when the squeals redoubled and Virgil gave him a withering look. Roman stuck his tongue out at him.

_Deal_ , he mouthed. Virgil flipped him off.

“Was it _super_ badass?”

“How many guys was it?”

“Did you stab anyone?”

“No one got stabbed,” Roman rushed to assure them, “It _was_ very impressive, though, three on one-”

“Two,” said Virgil.

Roman raised a brow.

“There was definitely three of them,” said Roman, “I feel like I should know, I’m the one they cornered,”

“It was three on _two,_ ” said Virgil, “You didn’t just _stand_ there. Look, he bruised up his hand throwing a punch like a rookie,”

“Oh, _sweet_ ,” said Tucker, lunging and grabbing Roman’s wrist. There was a brief moment where the unfamiliarity of it set Roman’s jaw taut, but Tucker’s grip was friendly and easily breakable, if sudden. Roman relaxed as Tucker turned Roman’s hand back and forth in his own.

“Looks like you led with the front of your fist, not the top” said Tucker, “Don’t think you broke it though,”

“That your professional opinion?” teased Roman.

Tucker puffed up his chest, grinning.

“Hell yeah!” he said, “I’m gonna be a doctor,”

“Thought you were gonna be a lawyer,” said Andy, rolling his eyes.

“Doctors and lawyers,” said Virgil dryly, “Don’t wander around the city at fuck off in the morning getting in trouble,”

“Apparently not as much trouble as you,” said Elliott, amused, “None of _us_ got into fist fights,”

“Is that sass?” said Virgil, ruffling their hair, “Am I getting _sass_ here?”

“Sounds like sass to me,” agreed Roman sagely, “I think you’ve been betrayed, Virgil, what a tragedy,”

Virgil snorted, casting Roman a smile over Elliott’s head, and Roman couldn’t help the small grin in return.

“Here,” said Roman, pushing his second sandwich and the extra at Tucker, “This is very good but I certainly can’t eat the rest of it. I’m keeping the onion rings though,”

“Oh, nice _,_ is this from Mr. Torres’s cart?” said Andy, snatching the sandwich.

“Does everyone know Frank?”

Elliott sputtered.

“You can’t call him _Frank_ , Roman, he’s like – an adult,”

“I’m an adult, and you just called me Roman,”

“Yeah but you’re not like, a _real_ adult,” said Elliott, “You’re a cool adult. Like Virgil!”

There was an odd twinge in Roman’s chest as he looked at Elliott’s smiling face, something fragile and touched. A _cool_ adult – how novel. Roman didn’t think he’d ever met one, and now all at once he was one, apparently.

“Well _thank you_ , dear Elliott,” he said, bowing his head with a flourish, “I shall endeavor to be worthy of such a title,”

They giggled a little, bowing back, which turned into all three of the kids giving Roman little head nods that would have made his father bitterly critique their form but mostly just made Roman want to wrap them all up in his arms and _squeeze._

They gave the last of the food to the kids, and Roman got to watch with growing amusement as Virgil spent a solid five minutes lecturing them on _going straight home_ and _sticking together_ and _not talking to strangers._

“Roman’s a stranger,” said Elliott reasonably.

“Roman doesn’t count, he’s with me,”

Mortifyingly, heat bloomed in Roman’s cheeks, and he hoped no one could tell in the dark. He wondered if Virgil had noticed it was the first time he’d actually said Roman’s name.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” said Andy, waving Virgil of, “We’re going, be responsible, we get it. Thanks for the food,”

“You’re welcome,” said both of them, and Roman felt his face flush even worse.

The three of them walked off, and Virgil watched them go with a sort of resigned fondness. Roman came to stand beside him, elbowing him in the arm and scraping himself on one of the many, many safety pins on Virgil’s jacket.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for good with kids,” he said dryly.

Virgil snorted, stuffing his hands in his pockets and gesturing for Roman to follow as he moved in the opposite direction from the kids.

“I could say the same for you,” he said, “You get a lot of babysitting gigs up in the big house?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” snorted Roman, “I think that was the closest I’ve ever been to someone that much younger than me. Children don’t typically go to formal functions. My parents used to lock me and my brothers in the children’s quarters when they had guests over,”

“ _Children’s quarters,_ ” muttered Virgil with an eye roll, almost too quiet to hear before speaking up, “So, what’s your secret? How’d you make friendly with the kids so fast?”

Roman gave him a wan smile.

“It was easy,” he said, not a bit bitterly, “I just thought, ‘What would Mother or Father do?’ and then did the exact opposite,”

Virgil visibly winced, and Roman just shrugged. Virgil didn’t say anything, and they continued walking.

“… Okay,” said Virgil suddenly.

Roman waited, but Virgil seemed to be wavering.

“Okay… what?” Roman prompted.

Virgil came to a stop, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You’re not… awful,” he muttered.

“What a glowing compliment,” said Roman flatly.

“Oh, shut up, Fitzroy,”

“No, really,” continued Roman, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, “I’m swooning Virgil, no one’s _ever_ spoken so sweetly to me, what next? Will you tell me I am not repulsively ugly? That you are capable of tolerating my presence?”

“Nevermind, I take it back,” laughed Virgil, “You’re insufferable and I hate you,”

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Roman, dropping his hand, “I was mere moments away from falling irrevocably in love with you, Virgil, we’ve dodged a bullet,”

Virgil laughed louder, and something warm and embarrassingly sweet curled in Roman’s chest. Virgil grinned down at him, and Roman realized at some point he had leaned into Virgil’s space – they were close enough that Roman could feel the warmth radiating off of him, goosebumps raising on his own bare arms.

The streetlight above them flickered, and the moment broke. Roman lurched back, and Virgil gave him a slightly startled look and cleared his throat, gesturing down the road.

“We’re not getting any younger,” he said, voice oddly strained, “Let’s get you home, Fitzroy,”

Hurrying after him, Roman fiddled with the strap of his bag and tried very hard not to think about the fact that, for a moment, Roman had almost thought Virgil was going to kiss him.

—

“You’re kidding”

“He absolutely did,” said Roman, nodding sagely, “Shook my father’s hand when Logan brought him home, I thought Mother was going to _faint._ Remus was gleeful, of course,”

“Honestly,” said Virgil, shaking his head, “I always- I don’t know, I guess I always figured noble-types just ignored soulmates. Your brother though-”

“Sounds absolutely besotted?” said Roman, “We were surprised too, don’t get me wrong, but-”

He shrugged, rubbing his arms a little.

“I don’t know- I don’t know how anyone could look at someone, the way my brother looks at Patton, and turn them away. I don’t know why anyone would want to,”

“Does that happen?” said Virgil, “Turning them away,”

“Not as often as you’d think,” said Roman, “Hardly anyone I know has actually _found_ theirs. I’d never even _seen_ another person’s soulmark besides my brothers’ before I started sneaking out. I genuinely don’t even know where my parents’ are,”

“That sounds…”

“Bleak? Depressing? Terribly stifled?”

“Lonely,”

Roman could feel Virgil’s eyes on him, a soft and unoppressive weight. Roman tossed him a quick smile, void of eye contact, and tried not to think about whether or not Virgil could see him blushing when they passed under the pier lanterns.

“Maybe,” he said, “But I have my brothers. Hard to be lonely with me and Remus around, we talk enough for half a dozen people,”

“I’m well aware,” said Virgil dryly.

“Asshole,” said Roman, kicking at his ankle, “I’m a delight,”

“You’re a pain in my ass is what you are,” said Virgil, grinning.

Roman stuck his tongue at him, and Virgil laughed, loud and from the very bottom of his chest – the kind of brave, genuine laughter Roman had never quite been courageous enough to try for.

He turned away from Virgil, smile falling a little.

They were walking along the edge of the lake now, and the manor was barely visible in the distance, only a scant handful of candles in the windows lighting its black, imposing shape. He’d be home soon, and still short of a soulmate.

He glanced at Virgil in the corner of his eye, smiling and looking pleased and content.

Home, and short of _Virgil_ , which was starting to sound worse.

Huffing, Roman stopped abruptly, hands on his hips.

Virgil turned, one eyebrow raised. Roman wrinkled his nose, turned, and hopped up on the railing of the pier, hooking his ankle around one of the lower bars.

“What are you doing?” said Virgil flatly.

“Sitting, obviously,”

“What, do your feet hurt, rich kid?” Virgil teased, coming over and flicking Roman in the knee.

Roman wiggled the fingers of his still-slightly-sore hand, testing. Swallowing, he put on a winning smile.

“Maybe I’m having fun,” he said, “Maybe I don’t want my evening to be over, just yet,”

Virgil’s eyes were so dark Roman couldn’t discern the pupils, and he could see every lantern around them reflected in them. Virgil watched him, considering, before slowly moving forward and placing his hands on either side of Roman on the railing, bracketing him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Roman, leaning in a little, “You’re not abysmal company, at least when you’re not actively antagonizing me,”

“You just make it so easy,” said Virgil, leaning in just a little as well until Roman could feel his breath on his face.

The moment stayed frozen for a heartbeat or an eternity, before Roman took a steadying breath and moved to close the distance.

A cacophonous _yowl_ of a cat shattered the silence, and several things happened almost at once – Virgil and Roman leapt apart, and Roman yelped, falling off balance – his arms pinwheeled, and Virgil’s eyes widened. He dove forward, grabbing Roman around the waist to keep him from pitching backwards off the pier, and then the whole world stopped completely.

_Heat_ and _light_ but no burn, nothing like the grip of the stranger had been – an overwhelming warmth that pressed right through Roman’s skin down to his very core from the place Virgil’s hand rested in the small of his back, fit perfectly to Roman’s soulmark.

Virgil’s expression had gone stunned, wide-eyed and terribly vulnerable. Roman had frozen, still half-perched on the railing, except for the quick, unsteady breath puffing out of his mouth.

Slowly, Virgil’s hand slipped away, and Roman immediately felt cold with the loss of it – Virgil brought it into the light, examining his own palm, which was now a deep, rich rose red.

For a fraction of a second, Roman wondered what color Virgil had imprinted on his skin for the rest of his life – and then he decided he had more important things to do, cradled Virgil’s jaw in his hands and kissed him square on the mouth.

Virgil let out a brief, muffled note of surprise before groaning in satisfaction, reaching up to weave his fingers into Roman’s hair and returning his arm around Roman’s waist, pulling Roman forward until he stood between Roman’s thighs and their chests were pressed together. Balanced precariously between the railing and Virgil’s embrace, Roman let his arm slip around Virgil’s neck, his lips so much softer than Roman would have expected, and his fingertips, crimson now forever, setting Roman shivering where they brushed Roman’s spine.

Finally, they broke apart with twin gasps, both of them grinning, Virgil’s eyes absolutely shining and Roman feeling like he could swallow the sun.

“Of course,” said Virgil breathlessly, “Should have known my soulmate would be the biggest smartass I ever met,”

“Never would have guessed, myself,” said Roman, giggling and pressing their foreheads together, “You got the gallant rescuer part down fairly well but you botched _everything_ else you prickly Melpomene-”

“Hey, you kissed _me_ , pretty boy,” said Virgil, brushing his nose against Roman’s and setting Roman’s heart fluttering, “I must have done something right,”

“I am, in fact, very pretty,” said Roman, hooking his ankle around the back of Virgil’s thigh and pulling him toward himself, “And you should absolutely kiss me about it. It’s what I deserve,”

“You’re gonna be a handful,” said Virgil.

“That a problem?”

“Not even a little,” breathed Virgil, pulling Roman back in for a second, searing kiss.

Roman’s evening wasn’t over – not by a long shot. He was going to sit here as long as he could keep hold of Virgil and keep kissing his smiling mouth and running his hands across the patched-up shoulders of Virgil’s jacket.

And in the morning, he was going to walk right up to the front door of the manor and introduce _his soulmate_ to everyone inside.

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me over on [tumblr!](tulipscoeminsallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com)


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